


Husbands

by Shachaai



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:59:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3416768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shachaai/pseuds/Shachaai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's an inaccurate word, but it still somehow defines them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Husbands

**Author's Note:**

> Repost of old shortfic from my tumblr.

It slips out occasionally from the other Nations, gentle teasing amongst a group that has known each other too long, an amused (and woefully inaccurate, sometimes more so than others) commentary on the history Portugal and England share with each other: _husbands._

The others mean it in the very mortal sense of the word – for all the many Nations England and Portugal have individually walked up the proverbial aisle over the centuries the two have never ventured up it once intended for _each_ _other,_ but…the two, overall, are…at the moment…more than _amicable,_ in the way good marriages are apparently supposed to be. The pair have, also, bogged themselves down at various points in their long history with all the problems marriages hit in a modern soap opera (and _more_ ), albeit it on a grander scale than what was meant for the silver screen. Money issues, _in-law_ issues, power imbalances, affairs, screaming rows, and unfair ‘divorce’ settlements that argued endlessly over coveted property, minor theft, _major_ theft, terrible choices in friends – England and Portugal have done them all, colouring their incidents with cannon-smoke, red, sea-salt and gold, war and death, crowns and republics and imperialism.

And so it is the other Nations occasionally tease when they catch England and Portugal side-by-side, the duo soaking up a patch of sunlight and reminiscing about days gone by in the way only their kind do. Young bodies, old eyes, days long lost and unsure – but hopefully many more – days to come.

The other Nations, with their own problems and pasts and relationships sliding in and out of minds and history books, tease, because they too are subject to teasing, smile or sigh ( _husbands_ ) _,_ and usually leave England and Portugal to it.

England doesn’t mind the title. Alright – England quite _likes_ the title, not that anyone will ever, _ever_ get him to admit it (unless he is just _that_ drunk), likes the little curl of warmth it gives him in his belly, like when Portugal laughs (amused, sometimes a little tiredly), leans in, and kisses his cheek. When they can talk about the good days together, sitting on the edge of some balcony and completely forgetting (on purpose) that both of them are supposed to be quitting smoking for the _umpteenth_ time, trading stories and cigarettes (and sometimes kisses if the mood settles right) as their shoulders brush.

_Husbands_ implies commitment – and it is _nice_ to think of commitment, for England to think he could commit to something, to have someone committed to _him._ To think that, despite being handed something fragile and precious, squashing it a bit, denting it a bit in his hands, and then outright _dropping_ it a few times on the floor, making it jagged and cutting himself on the shards – despite all that, he still has that thing to _pick up again,_ to hold close and treasure fondly. Commitment: always. Somehow.

Portugal doesn’t vehemently protest the title either. He rolls his eyes now, after so many years, but just lets the old joke lie, sometimes with a passing comment that _really,_ after so long, England ought to take a little responsibility, perhaps starting with household chores and golden rings and continuing in that vein until England is flushed a startling red.

_Husbands,_ say the others.

England glances at Portugal sometimes, busy flapping a hand to shoo the others and their comments away, and thinks – since they never were, and most likely never _will_ be ‘properly’ married, the acceptance of the little joke, after so long and all they’ve done and been through, sounds better than _I do._

(The ‘joke’ has lasted longer than any of their individual marriages to other people, anyway.)


End file.
